


Reunion

by amine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Airports, Fluff, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 23:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10729707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amine/pseuds/amine
Summary: "Long separations or not, however, England never wants it to be obvious just how pointedly he feels America’s absence."





	Reunion

England sees America before America sees him, but he doesn’t want to be the one to make the first move. He shoves his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight as he watches America scan the crowd. When America continues to look right past him, England scowls. As much as he doesn’t want to be the one to seek out America, he also doesn’t want him to get lost in the crowded airport. England clears his throat and speaks in a loud voice over the buzz of activity around him.

“Alfred F. Jones.”

America stops, his seldom used human alias catching his attention, and he looks wildly around until, finally, his attention settles on England. America’s face lights up in a smile, and England thinks that America puts the sun to shame with the warmth and brilliance in his smile before he catches himself in his sentimentality.

Having an entire ocean between them is terribly cruel, especially when they are apart and England becomes aware of how wanting to see America is not as simple as a weekend holiday in the countryside, but making sure both of their schedules match before they plan their visits. Even if he did decide to visit America on a lark, there would still be the matter of the long plane ride and the hassles of the airport.

Long separations or not, however, England never wants it to be obvious just how pointedly he feels America’s absence. But while he can remain stony-faced and rigid, he cannot stop his heart from pounding as America rapidly closes the distance between them. He removes his hands from his pockets, but he clenches them at his side lest he hold them up in his desire to touch America. It is all pretense, because there is nothing he would like to do more than to tackle America and kiss him senseless.

America, blunt fool that he is, does not possess that problem, and his suitcase clatters to the floor as he drops it to free his hands to sweep England off his feet into a hug. England sputters and flails, making sure to remind America of what an oafish idiot he is before he clings to him, still suspended in the air. America laughs and holds him close, mumbling insincere apologies mixed with blunt statements about how much he missed him. America is always too blunt.

The moment his face is hidden over America’s shoulder, England smiles to himself and curls his hands into America’s back—so he won’t fall in case America lets go of him, of course. He breathes in deep, because America smells like the ocean and the mountains and fields of grain and other things that he knows no one person can smell like all at once, but America somehow makes possible. 

He fixes back into a stern frown when America pulls back to kiss him with too much tongue for somewhere so crowded. England grunts and forces America back into a simple peck on the lips, pulling away despite America’s whine. He scowls in response to America’s smile, but with their close proximity England can’t help but concentrate on how America is beautiful and perfect despite being an imperfect idiot. His scowl deepens as his cheeks threaten to warm, but his heart is still pounding and America must feel it, close as they are. No matter how careful his composure, his heart will always give him away.

America lowers him to the ground and England smooths out the wrinkles in his suit while America retrieves his abandoned suitcase. America’s right hand remains free and while England’s hand itches to reach for it, he shoves both of his hands back into his pockets. He walks ahead of America, leading the way to the car park. Behind him, America laughs.

“By the way, it’s cute when you’re pretending not to be happy to see me.”

And England trips on his way out the door.


End file.
